The truth of Albion
by Dave Colton
Summary: Vade, a Blacksmith's apprentice, learns a startling truth about his past and must rise to meet his fate and avenge his ancestors.
1. Prologue

_So, this is my first Fable fanfic, and I'm setting it very shortly after the downfall of Jack. If you can't tell, the hero chose mostly the evil path, and that will be played out. I am also not including the Lost Chapters expansion for those of you who care. Please R&R. Thanks. Enjoy_

**Prologue**

Jack of Blades lay dead at the Hero's feet. His chest heaved with exhaustion, and his right arm dangled almost uselessly at his side, but it still clenched the sword that had extinguished Jack's life. He stared at the mask that hid the horror that had seemed to span centuries. He only felt hatred for that mask and whatever evil it had possessed. That man had single-handedly destroyed the Hero's life. He had ordered the attack of Oakvale, which had killed his father. He had deliberately held his mother captive and forced his sister into hiding. He had ordered her eyes gouged out. He had effectively made the Hero an orphan. It was lucky Maze had found him when he did, or the Hero could have died as a young boy. Too bad the old fool hadn't seen the potential in him and sided with Jack.

He recalled the first time he had ever seen Jack. It was years ago, in the Arena in Witchwood. He had been an upcoming hero, and had been asked to fight. He had breezed through the first rounds easily, his sword dispatching every bee, Hobbe and Bandit it had come across. Then, it was time for the partner rounds. He had been paired with a childhood friend named Whisper. 'Friend' was using the term loosely. Ever since he had met her, she had a nickname for him. 'Farm boy'. He hated that nickname with a passion. It angered him each time she called him that. And she had done it again that day when she saw him.

"Hey, Farm boy," she called from across the circle. Let's get that prize money, ya?" Then she smiled coyly before getting ready for the next opponent. He grimaced at the memory. They won every round, never taking a break to resupply or buy better armor. He was tired once they beat the giant scorpion, but knew he could keep going if he needed it.

Then the villain exposed himself dramatically, announcing a surprise round. It would encompass the two surviving heroes to be pitted against one another. A fight to the death. The winner would have more riches than they could imagine. Once the round began, the Hero immediately went on the defensive, knowing all too well Whisper's 'attack-first-ask-questions-later' attitude towards fighting. He parried her every move, sidestepped every lunge and dodged every blow, countering each time. Finally, she kneeled before him, pleading.

"Please, Farm boy, we had a deal," she begged. He stared down at her, reveling in how pathetic she was. She had known the rules when she agreed to the match. "Let me go. We can spit the prize money, twenty-eighty! I'll take twenty," she said, a look of hope glimmering in her eye.

"There is is, folks," The announcer's voice stated, rumbling around the stone structure. "Reaper has beaten her. Now, all he must do is strike her down, and the entire prize will be his! Will the Left hand of Skorm live up to his name, or will he show his human side towards his childhood companion?" The crowd was cheering, some were booing, others were calling advice to him, whether to kill her or not.

He stared at her, a hidden hatred welling up inside him. His grip on the black sword he carried tightened, and Whisper winced.

"Please," she begged again, "We had a deal." She sat, staring at him for some time before he turned away from her. She let out a sigh of relief and stood, smiling. "Thank you. I'll see you back at the guild." She turned and began heading for the exit when a loud burst of applause ruptured the stadium. She was about to turn to see what was going on when a large, black blade of an obsidian sword erupted from her chest. She stared at it, shocked at what had just happened before her whole world went dark.

Reaper pulled his sword from Whisper's body and watched as her lifeless husk slumped to the ground with a muffled _thud_. He turned and walked towards the other exit, a satisfied smirk set upon his features. He had disposed of one of his biggest threats. A fellow hero. He could barely hear her brother, Thunder, crying in agony over his sister's body as the crowd erupted in cheers. He would deal with Thunder later, and would satisfy this kill like none before.

His sister's voice brought him back to reality and out of the sweet daydream.

"This, little brother, is the choice I spoke of so long ago." She turned her sightless eyes to the sword that lay on the ground next to Jack, and a small glint of light shone on the stone floor beside it. It opened quickly, and seemed to swirl around itself. "The sword of Aeons. It is a powerful sword that wields immense power. You saw what it did to Jack." She turned to face him again. "This is what has caused the world so much suffering and grief. This is what caused us to be torn apart, and what caused Mother's death. This is your choice."

She took several steps backwards and stood, arms spread wide. "You must either cast the sword into the vortex, effectively destroying it forever, or strike me down and wield more power than you have ever imagined." He knelt down and picked the sword up and scrutinized its every detail down to the seemingly double blade. He felt its power flow into him and wrap itself around him, embracing him like a long lost relative. But there was something more. Something sinister. It lurked in the background, as if not wishing to be sensed, and this troubled Reaper. It seemed as if Skorm himself had a hold of this weapon, and Reaper of all people was most in tune with the god of evil. He had led countless victims to their death at his temple, and had sacrificed countless more upon his own blade in his service, but this scared even him.

He looked at the sword shortly before turning to look at his sister, deep in thought. If he destroyed the sword, he could live with his sister, his only remaining family member, and restart the guild and train more heroes to help save Albion. They would ensure justice, and make sure no one like Jack ever came back. He stood and calmly strode towards her, his face void of emotion, and quickly inserted the sword into her stomach and withdrew it just as fast.

She fell, clutching her wounds. She fell onto her side and watched him with sightless eyes.

"I hope that what little you cradle close to you in this wretched world keeps you happy, for all will not stay that way." And with that, his sister died. He bowed his head, but not for her. It was for her ability. She was a gifted seer, and he knew she could have been useful. With her death, the vortex instantly closed, and with it all chances of destroying the sacred sword.

Reaper retrieved his obsidian sword and strode to the body of Jack of Blades. For what he did to his family, he would be made a spectacle. He surveyed his surroundings. He was in the very chamber he had officially graduated as a Hero at their guild. This would do finely. He picked up the body in one finely muscled arm and walked to the wall. Once here, he held Jack's body in place and pierced his chest with the Obsidian sword, embedding its blade in the solid stone of the chamber. He proceeded to break off the handle and recite an incantation, ensuring Jack wouldn't carelessly fall, decay or be taken away. Then he walked to the body of his sister and picked her up and carried her towards the door. He stopped on the bridge connecting the chamber to the main Guild. He peered over the edge and thought to himself. He decided that it was time to start anew. Time to start fresh. He cast her body over the side and watched as the darkness engulfed it, but only turned to leave when he heard a sickening _crack_ from below.

He left that place, magically sealing the door shut. He emerged in the library, watching as fire was still burning all the books and shelves, and he smiled at it all. He smiled at the firelight dancing on his black plate mail armor, and inhaled the sweet smell of destruction. He knew his place in the world. He would restart the guild and find more suitable for being called a 'Hero'. He would train them in everything a hero needed to know. He made sure they'd know everything, for they would be serving him and him alone as an army of Heroes. And at that thought, he laughed.


	2. The meeting

_So, this chapter takes place about fifteen years after the Prologue. The plot it starting to work its way out of my mind at this point, so bear with me if some of this is shaky. Please R&R and as always, enjoy. _

**Chapter 1**

Light filtered in through the small hole people called a 'window'. The ray of light fell on the face of a boy, waking him. He looked like many other boys his age, but was taller and skinnier. His hair was light brown, and his eyes were red, which goes without saying, was uncommon. He lay on his sack for a moment, looking around at the closet he called his room. It was four bare, stone walls, and the only source of light was a slit in the wall that was actually a mistake made by missing the spot with brick mortar. The floor was much like the walls, solid stone, and the only thing on it, aside from the boy, was his bed. It was actually just a pile of hay with a burlap sack thrown over the top. The most extravagant thing in the room was the pillow he slept on. It was stuffed with the finest down money could buy, and was lined with the soft, white fur of a White Balvarine. His mother had told him that it was a gift from his father.

The boy didn't know who or where his father was, only that he was, in fact, a hero. He liked to image what it would be like to accompany his father on his adventures, slaying Hobbes and Balvarines, infiltrating bandit camps and saving the damsels in distress.

He was daydreaming when his mother rapped on the wooden door.

"Vade, get up! You need to get to work in five minutes. I'm off to the salon, dearie. Don't be late or Evan will have my head!" And with that, she was gone. Vade sighed. His mother had pretty much given him to Evan to work as his apprentice in the forge. It was tedious and grueling work, but Vade know it would help because blacksmiths made more money than many other occupations in this day in age.

He slowly stood up and wiped the sleep from his eyes, yawning. He pushed open the door and had to cover his eyes. The sunlight streamed in, unabated. His mother had left the door open. There was no reason to close it. No one would attempt to steal anything. There was nothing of value in his hut. He left, closing the door, and walked out into the streets of Bowerstone. He had lived here all his life, and had known no differently. He winded through the streets, paying no attention the others that were doing the same.

After a few minutes of pushing, jostling and shoving to get where he needed to, he made it to the forge, slightly out of breath. Evan's shadow loomed larger as he came forward from the back.

"You're late," he said, his Irish accent showing through. "Get your arse in the back and start working those bellows. We're behind as it is." He turned, beginning to hammer out a piece of red-hot steel. "You're mother will be hearing about this," he concluded, pounding the steel harder.

Vade sighed and went to the back and began working the bellows, his mind wandering after a few moment of the repetitive task. His days were normally done in this fashion. Evan would have him working the bellows for hours at a time, and during that period, Vade's mind would wander to other places and imagine what they'd be like. He had heard tales of Greatwood and its tall, towering trees, and how nice it felt to sit in their shade, and the fish you could catch in the streams that meandered through its pastures. He had heard stories of Witchwood and the terrible Balvarines that inhabited its depths, and the enormous arena they had built for heroes to display their power. He had heard rumors of the evil that lurked in Darkwood, and the numerous bandit factions that roamed its paths.

His daydreams were interrupted by Evan, who came back, an aggravated look plastered on his features.

"Two men up front who want to have a word with you, lad. Better hurry. One's got a damn big sword." Evan shooed him off the bellows and began working it himself, now not paying any attention to his apprentice.

Vade walked cautiously to the front. He bowed before the two men, humbled by their sizes.

"I was told you two gentlemen wished to speak with me," he said, his voice small and quiet.

"Good manners," one said, before adding "for a street rat." Vade was taken aback by the man's comment, but made no move to defend himself. Evan was correct. The man carried a sword twice his own size.

"Quiet, Rage. That's no way to be talking to a prospect," the second said. He too was large, but not as large as Rage. His skin was very dark, and he wore off-white armor. He held out a large, gloved hand. "I'm Thunder. This is Rage. Don't mind him. He's angry because he hasn't had is mornin' ale." Thunder chuckled, but Rage just brooded, casting glances over at the pub.

"What can I do for you," Vade asked, awed that Thunder would be here, talking to him. He had heard many tales about Thunder, and all of them were awesome.

"The Guild Master believes you may possess the abilities to become a Hero. We've been ordered to take you back to the guild and begin training immediately."  
"Now wait just a god damned second," Evan cried, coming forward, leaving the bellows. "What the hell am I supposed to do without an apprentice?" he asked, openly angry.

"Back up, for starters," Rage said, also sporting an Irish accent. His hair and long beard may have been white, but he had a fighters spirit, and that was enough to calm Evan. "You'll be compensated greatly for your loss. Too much, in my opinion." He produced a sack of coins nearly the same size as Vade's head, and handed it to Evan, whose eyes grew three sized just from looking at it. He snatched it greedily and retreated to the back of the forge, slamming the door as he went.

"Well now," Thunder said, smiling at me, "we can take our leave."

"Wait," Vade said. "What about my mother? Will she know?"

"Who gives a fuck," Rage replied and took a swig from a flask that was hanging by his side.

"Rage, hush now," Thunder said, turning towards his companion. "That's no way to talk to a prospect. How many times must I tell you before it gets through that damn thick skull of yours?"

"At least once more," Rage answered, smiling. "Just like always." Thunder sighed.

"Your mother will be informed. Come, take my hand, and we'll leave this place."

"And praise Avo for that," Rage commented. Thunder decided to ignore him, and instead focused on the guild. A bright light engulfed the two, and Rage looked at them. "I'll meet you there. There's a cute broad in that hair place I'm goin' to go chat up," He said, slicking back his hair.

"That's my mo—"

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"—om," Vade concluded, suddenly realizing he was no longer in Bowerstone. He looked around and saw he was, in fact, in a stone entryway. Before him was a large, three-dimensional map of Albion set on a circular table. Behind that stood a large, stone stairway leading up to higher portions of the building, but the main feature was not really a feature at all. It was a man. He was tall and pale, with dark eyes and dark hair that seemed to match the dark plate mail armor he was wearing. He was hunched over the map, looking at a certain mountain peak, but was interrupted by Vade's outburst.

"Thunder, you made it back in one piece, I see," he said, standing upright.

"Aye, I did. I brought the prospect with me."

"I have a name, you know," Vade said, looking up at Thunder. "It's Vade. You'd know that if you happened to ask like a normal person." He thought he caught a small smile tugging at the corner of the man's lips, but Thunder wasn't as happy.

"And I'd have asked if I was told to. I was told to collect you and bring you here, isn't that right, Guild Master?" The words 'Guild Master' were dripping with contempt, and Vade could tell that Thunder didn't respect this man the way he should have, if he were truly the Guild Master.

"That is correct, Thunder," he replied, choosing to not hear the obvious anger in Thunder's voice. "He was just doing as told. Truth is, you should be angry at me, although I already know your name, Vade," he said, a smile on his face. "I am Reaper, the Guild Master. Come with me, I'll show you to your quarters. I'm sure you'll enjoy your time here."

And with that, Reaper led Vade up the large, stone staircase, following the same path he had trod when Maze had taken him to his room.


End file.
